The Homecoming
by GriffinStar
Summary: A glimpse into what was Louisa was maybe hoping for when she decided to come back to the village, and her thoughts on how Martin handles her news, followed up by Martin's take on the situation
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of ****Buffalo**** Pictures. I own nothing except my overactive imagination**

**The Homecoming**

**Chapter 1**

**_A short story written to fill a quiet afternoon, describing Louisa's thoughts on her return from London, and maybe giving a hint of how she'd hoped things might have worked out instead of the way they actually do. _**

As I walk back down the hill from Martin's house towards the pub, the control that I had managed to hold onto in front of him weakens somewhat, as I choke back the hot tears that threaten to spill down my cheeks. I'm so angry, so hurt, as my thoughts swirl around in my head.

'You bloody bastard Martin Ellingham! I can't believe you've already moved on, got someone else in your life! You obviously weren't _that _upset when we broke up. My God, you really haven't wasted much time have you, the bed sheets have hardly had a chance to cool down. It really is the last thing I expected after all the years it took _me _to get anywhere with you.'

Then I have a sudden horrid thought.

'Oh God, I hope they _do _have a spare room at the pub.'

I haven't actually rung first to book one in advance just in case Martin _had _offered…

What on earth had I been thinking? There was no way on earth that Martin would want me to stay, and of course he reacted just as I'd known he would in reality. I'd kidded myself if I'd expected him to be any different. I'd had this stupid idea that maybe we could still be friends, that he would be surprised by my news of course, but that he would offer his support, even if we were no longer together. We hadn't argued or fallen out after all, we had _mutually_ decided to call off our wedding. So I'd thought that Martin might offer me his spare room to stay in until I got myself sorted out. Things would have been so much simpler if I could have come back to White Rose Cottage, but of course when I'd rented my cottage out before going to London, I hadn't known that our act of love had been so ...productive.

I can see again now the look of sheer horror on his face as his eyes had fallen on my very obvious six months worth of pregnancy bump. All he could manage to stutter was,

"You're pregnant!"

Well, full marks to him for his powers of observation. It didn't take years of medical training to work _that_ one out.

And then I see a woman smugly sitting there, slim, elegantly attired in a suit, completely at home with her feet under his kitchen table. The penny drops. No wonder Martin's not exactly thrilled to see me - he's got a new girlfriend. Once I realise what's going on, I just _have_ to get away, I'm not going to intrude on his cosy little love nest.

So I leave, having done the decent thing and informed him that I am back, and that I am pregnant with his child. Duty done, nothing more to say.

Martin follows after me - but just to clarify the facts, that's all.

"What do you want? Do you want to get married?" Not really a proposal so much as a question to find out if that's what I expect from him. Oh I think not, as I tell him in no uncertain terms.

"You're certain it's ours?" he asks next, with maybe a hopeful glint in his eye that I would confess to some other lover who had got me in this condition.

I soon put him right about that too. The absolute bloody cheek of the man, what did he think? That I'd jumped into bed with the first man I'd met in London, as I would have had to have done to be six months pregnant now? I resist the overwhelming urge to slap his face at that point, it takes a supreme effort. But with his next comment, I think if I hadn't been holding my suitcase and bag – which he didn't even offer to help with - I _would _have slapped him.

"You know it's a bit late for an abortion."

Just as I'd expected. Practically his first thought was that our child should have been aborted, got rid of, conveniently disposed of. I was _so_ right not to have told him when I first found out that I was pregnant. No, I feel vindicated now, I don't need to feel guilty for keeping him in the dark for so long.

Of course I can't help myself, I just have to ask,

"Whose she?" nodding my head towards his kitchen.

"Edith," he informs me coolly. He doesn't even look remotely embarrassed about her at all.

So that was the name of the red headed bitch calmly sitting there. She didn't mean it at all just now when she'd offered to go, and Martin certainly hadn't taken her up on her offer so that he could talk to me. Bastard.

"Why aren't you in London?" is his next oh so friendly question.

He certainly knows how to make a girl feel welcome. And of course he completely understands why the school had found my 'condition' to be so repugnant – because that's exactly how he feels. It's written all over his face.

"It's going to be fine Martin. Not your problem." I tell him as I walk away – and he lets me go. So I have all the answers I need now. I will be a single mother with no involvement from Martin. So be it

**xXx**

As I walk into the pub, I pray that it will be a quiet evening in there, with not too many people to have to put a brave face on for. But it is not to be.

It's packed. It seems as if half the village, including Pauline and Al are there. And all eyes seemed fixated on my bump - Mrs Tishell's eyes are on stalks as she looks daggers at me - actually she looks as if she's going to have a heart attack.

But I heave a huge sigh of relief when John says he has a room for me, my next stop would have been to try to find a B and B with a vacancy, or failing that a hotel, which would have been even pricier than the pub was going to be. I think nervously about my savings, and how long they will last if I don't get the job at the school that I've come back for. It might only be part time, but it's something. I'll figure the rest out as I go along.

Then Pauline starts with her questions.

"Does he know?"

"If you mean Martin, yes he does, he's fine about it, we're still good friends."

I lie to her through gritted teeth. That's what I'd hoped for before I'd discovered he has new girlfriend, but I'm going to be civilised about it all in front of everyone.

"Didn't he ask you to stay?"

"I wouldn't actually want to, Pauline"

Not now that other bloody woman was there, I most certainly wouldn't. But at that thought I find myself losing the brave front I'm presenting to everyone, so I say that I want to go and lie down, and then I make my escape to my room. At least John is a gentleman and takes my case and carries it up to my room for me.

Once I'm alone, I collapse onto the bed and allow myself the luxury of a damn good cry.

**xXx**

Thank goodness I'd done my research before my job interview at the school. Mr. Strain is as weird as they come, but I suppose I had left them in the lurch when I'd headed for London so abruptly, and maybe he had been the best they could come up with at short notice.

He tries to say I won't be suitable for the job because I'm pregnant, but I know my rights, and I can see the look of panic when I quote the legal position to him.

So I get the job, and start straight away – and I love it. This is where I belong, and I know instantly that I've made the right decision to come back, whatever the situation with Martin. I can deal with all the villagers whispering and giggling behind my back - after all I've had years of practice thanks to my Dad and his dodgy dealings. About the only one to actually welcome me back so far is Bert. Dear Bert, he's always been quite protective towards me, bless him.

**xXx**

What planet is Martin from? So he comes to the school at the end of the day. Fine, I think, he's come to see me now he's had time to think about things, maybe he wants us to start again, sort things out amicably, ask about his child.

But no. He seeks out Mr. Strain, talking to him about missed appointments and his constipation, of all things. I wrinkle my nose up in disgust and leave them to it, but I can't resist shooting Martin an incredulous look. This is _his_ child, _his_ baby I'm carrying, isn't he in the least bit curious about it?

Finally he comes into the classroom where I'm tidying up, and asks if I'm alright, have I got everything I need, says at least I've got a job now.

"_He's_ weird though," I tell him, pointing in the direction of Mr. Strain.

Of course Martin just assumes I'm miffed that I'm not the Head Mistress anymore, he never really listens does he? I tell him that I'm concerned, that Mr. Strain is not normal.

Martin stares at me.

"I'll tell you what's not normal. You having this baby without telling me. Very high handed of you Louisa," he declares.

"Oh is it?"

"Yes it is."

At this point I see red. High handed? Does he think this is an easy situation for me?

"Do you imagine I didn't want to discuss it? In London, on my own, in a bedsit, 37 years old, single, pregnant? Do you think I didn't want to talk to the father, work things out? But what would you have said Martin, hm? _Have you considered an abortion? I'll back you up whatever you decide_."

I mock his pompous voice as I tell him a few home truths. He'd have tried to pressure me to have an abortion if he'd known in the early stages, so what was the point in contacting him, when I knew for certain that I could never even consider aborting our baby? And I know I was right about this by what he said to me yesterday on my return.

"I _would_ have backed you up, absolutely. But keeping it a secret is just feminist point scoring, like you staying at the pub," he retorts. What the hell is he banging on about? Where else am I supposed to go? I really don't have any choice about staying at the pub.

"I didn't choose to stay at the pub. My house is rented out to Mr. Creepy," I point out to him through clenched teeth.

"Nobody made you do it, and you get money for it."

"So?"

"So, that pays for the room at the pub!" Martin tells me triumphantly, as if this proves his point.

Why on earth are we squabbling about the income from my cottage? I take a deep breath as I massage my forehead to try to ease the headache that I now feel coming on, no doubt brought on by tension. This is not going well.

Martin stops for a minute too, maybe realising that this is not a constructive conversation.

"We should arrange to get your notes sent down," is his next input.

"M…my doctor's notes?" I query. He surely doesn't think…

"Yes, it's pretty straight forward," he starts to explain.

"They've been sent down. I'm with the hospital in Truro." I inform him.

He looks puzzled.

"What?"

"You didn't imagine you'd be my doctor did you? That would be really odd Martin," I tell him.

He actually looks a bit hurt at that, but what did he expect? That we could ignore everything else, that he could just carry on being my doctor, and pretend this pregnancy is nothing to do with him? Well, yes actually, I can see how that would work in his mind; he always could put on his professional front when it suited, detach himself from any personal involvement.

He takes a minute or two to assimilate this information. Then he seems to pull himself together, and the cold, detached mask now descends over his face.

"Your choice," he says abruptly. Then bizarrely, he holds out his hand for me to shake, as if we're business partners who have concluded their business. Well, I suppose we are in a way.

Then he turns on his heel and marches out of the room without so much as a backward glance.

I take a deep breath and swallow. 'I don't need him. I'm going to be just fine on my own,' I tell myself, as I finish clearing up in the classroom. But a little tiny voice at the back of my mind keeps nagging me '_B__ut you still love him'._

I ignore the voice - it's irrelevant. Martin has moved on and is with someone else now. He's not interested. That ship has sailed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my imagination.**

**The Homecoming - Chapter 2**

**_A follow up chapter giving Martin's point of view on Louisa's return to the village_**

Edith has hardly changed in the intervening years since we last met. She's still as opinionated and headstrong as ever. But at least I understand her - we talk the same talk, and have a great deal in common, as is to be expected since we trained together at medical school. I suppose technically she is a woman, but I don't really think of her in those terms; she is as logical and concise as any man of my acquaintance, which is probably why we get along so well. I never really could understand Louisa's thought process, she always seemed far more irrational and emotional than was good for her, although in the end she came to the same conclusion as me regarding our relationship – it wouldn't have worked. Doesn't stop me thinking about her all the time though…

But enough of those thoughts. As I told Chris Parsons, it's time for me to move on. Decent bloke Chris, another old med school friend. Can't say as I've ever really bothered much with friends, but Chris is the closest thing I have to one, and I can tolerate his enquiries about my well being better than most.

Of course he has a professional interest too. As head of the Primary Care Trust, Chris put his neck on the line when he supported my coming here to take up the position of village GP, knowing as he did about my wretched haemophobia. It would have reflected badly on him if I hadn't coped after…well after everything that happened – or _didn't_ happen as it turned out. Would have been a bad show all round, so I had to pull myself together and get on with things, show some backbone, as my father would say.

I smile wryly at Edith's unspoken apology – it's understood by both of us that by coming here to see me this evening, she is admitting that I was right and she was wrong with the diagnosis for the Collingsworth woman. Just like the old days when we were always competing with each other, both always having to be right. So I appreciate her coming over, and it actually feels pretty good to have an intellectual equal that I can talk to – not too many of those around in this village.

Edith barely bothers to hide her contempt for my position as a lowly GP in Portwenn. We both aimed for the top of our tree professionally, so in her eyes I am now fallen from grace. Even she has heard whispers of my blood thing she tells me, as she examines my cut hand. I assure her that I'm dealing with it, that I have plans to return to London as Head of Vascular Surgery at Imperial, and I am gratified that she seems suitably impressed by this.

Edith asks for some antiseptic to clean my wound, and as I get up to fetch it, there is a knock at my kitchen door. I exclaim in irritation as yet again my evening is to be interrupted. What is it with these locals; they seem to think that they can pop round whenever they feel like it.

But as I walk over to the door and look through the frosted glass at the profile of the person standing on the other side, my heart skips a beat, because it looks just like… But I tell myself not to be so bloody ridiculous; I have to stop seeing Louisa everywhere. I made a complete arse of myself only today up at the school, thinking that I saw her in one of the classrooms. I must get a grip on myself, this just won't do. She's in London, she couldn't get away fast enough, and she's not been in contact since that fateful day that we were going to be married – before we both came to our senses and realised that it would have been a complete and utter disaster.

So I open the door and then I stare like a half wit when I see who is standing there.

"Louisa," I finally manage to say.

"Hello Martin," she replies, after seeming to be rather startled by me. Perhaps she'd half hoped I wouldn't be in? Just hearing her gentle Cornish accent evokes all sorts of memories – some good, some not so good.

"How are you?" I ask, for something to say.

I gaze at her, trying to take in the fact that this is _not_ one of my recurring dreams, this is real; Louisa is actually here, at my door, speaking to me. I see her dark glossy hair in its usual ponytail with the soft fringe sweeping across her beautiful face, and I notice that the green colour of the dress she is wearing brings out the green tints in her eyes. But as I cast my look downwards, I find I can't quite believe what my eyes are telling me. However, it doesn't take all my years of medical training to work it out.

"You're pregnant!" I blurt out, completely taken aback.

"Yes, I am," Louisa states calmly, gently patting her bump.

Then she looks past me, into my kitchen, and spies Edith, who is sitting patiently at my table, with a slightly amused smile hovering on her lips as she watches the unfolding scenario.

"Hello," Louisa says to her, raising her hand in greeting.

"Hello," Edith replies, as she smiles back and returns the raised hand greeting.

"I'm a friend of Martin's," Louisa explains.

"Me too," Edith replies in a congenial manner.

"I'm staying at the pub. I thought I'd get the taxi to drop me here first though, so I could tell you in person and uh…yea…" Louisa lets the words hang in the air.

"Shall I go?" Edith thoughtfully offers, but Louisa quickly tells her,

"No, no, I just dropped by on my way. You carry on."

And then she walks away. She obviously doesn't want to come in, or speak to me any further, but after a few seconds to get my head into gear, I follow after her, because I need some answers from her for God's sake. She can't just return after six months with no word at all, drop a bombshell like this, and then disappear off again.

But I'm flummoxed, communication skills have never been my forte, and the words tumble out in a less than cohesive manner.

"Louisa, that uh…this…uh…pregnancy, it's…"

"It's ours, Martin, it's yours and mine," she confirms in a very brusque manner. Have I done something to offend her? Because she is being very short with me for some reason, but I have no idea why.

So many thoughts are flooding through my brain. Maybe I've misunderstood her and I really must be cetain that I get my facts right at a time like this. There were only a couple of occasions that we could possibly have conceived a baby, and I thought we'd got things pretty much covered on the contraceptive front, or else I'd have prescribed the morning after pill for her – I've always believed in a belt and braces approach in these matters.

"And…and what do you want? Do you…do you want to get married? I mean you're _certain_ it's ours?" I stutter out, struggling to think logically.

"Yes I _am_ certain, and no, I _don't_ want to get married," she tells me forcefully, leaving me in no doubt whatsoever.

So if I _am_ the father of this…this baby, then why is she being so abrupt and unfriendly towards me? It's not just my fault is it? It takes two after all, and I didn't force my way into her bed, she'd been pretty keen too when we got engaged.

And why isn't she asking me for my help and support? I can only suppose that this means that she really can't stand me. Maybe she was just trying to let me down gently when she'd told me she still loved me in the letter she gave me on our non-Wedding day.

So now she's really cross that she's ended up in this situation. Perhaps she didn't realise she was pregnant straight away; I ought to clarify the medical situation so that she's clear about it.

"You know it's a bit late for an abortion," I inform her, thinking that maybe she would have chosen this option had she been better informed earlier on in her pregnancy.

For some reason the look on her face seems to be one of pure contempt for me as she says,

"I thought I should tell you before the village finds out."

Well, yes, that is decent of her I suppose, but I'm still puzzled by her plans.

"Why are you going to the pub?"

She knows I have a spare room, so why isn't she asking if she can stay there? The only answer I can come up with is because she simply doesn't want _anything_ to do with me.

"My house is rented out," she replies.

Well of course I already know this. How many times over the past six months have I found myself walking past White Rose Cottage, only to see that new Headmaster chap coming out of what should be her front door, or glancing in through her window as I used to, but seeing a strange man in there. So I know full well that her house is rented out.

"Who's she?" Louisa now asks me, nodding towards my kitchen.

I've forgotten all about Edith sitting in there, so I have to think for a couple of seconds who she means.

"What? Oh, it's Edith." I inform her, and Louisa repeats this name to herself.

"Why aren't you in London?" I ask. Having not heard anything from her, I've assumed that she's made a successful new life for herself there, teaching at her horrid friends' prestigious school. So why has she come back to the village now? It certainly isn't because she wants to see me; she's made that abundantly clear by her attitude.

"I didn't like London. And the school didn't like this," she tells me, pointing to her not inconsiderable belly. Her pregnancy is very obvious on her normally slender frame, so clearly there was no way that she would be able to keep it secret from anyone now.

And I understand only too well what snobs the people who send their children to that type of private school in London are; a heavily pregnant, unmarried expectant mother would not go down well with them at all.

I suddenly feel terribly guilty, it's all my fault that she's in this condition, although I haven't even begun to figure out yet how we managed to fail so spectacularly on the contraceptive front. I shall have to give that matter my undivided attention later on, but for now I must try to concentrate on dealing with Louisa.

"Oh...uh…no. Right, so you're here." This is the best that I can come up with unfortunately.

She gives me a withering look.

"It's going to be fine Martin. It's not your problem. Bye."

She says this with an air of finality, and then walks away, down the steps, down the hill, carrying her case, too proud and stubborn to want any help from me.

I stand and watch her go. She's made it very clear that she wants _nothing_ to do with me; she can't even bear to come into my house, or speak to me for more than two minutes. So she clearly doesn't want me to be involved in any way with this baby. She hasn't even told me when it's due, how she feels about it - nothing.

Now I hear Edith walking up behind me.

"Is she from the village?" she asks, and I confirm that she is.

"Well, don't do anything hasty," Edith advises.

"What?"

"Does she have a job?"

"Yes," I reply. Then I correct myself. "Uh, no actually I don't think she does."

How on earth will Louisa manage – her career is in tatters now that she has had to leave the school in London. Even if she wants nothing to do with me personally, I will have to ensure that she…and this baby…are provided for. And her health, that I can take care of professionally if she's going to be in the village…all these thoughts race through my head, but are interrupted by Edith's calm, logical voice.

"Well, don't think you have to rescue her. She's a grown woman, she's chosen to have a baby. It's her choice, Ellingham."

Yes. I realise that Edith is right. Louisa has made her decision, and for whatever reason has chosen not to include me in it – she knew where to find me, but she didn't even bother to call me to let me know that she was coming back, or arrange to meet, to talk. She just called in on the off chance that I'd be there.

No, because as far as she's concerned, I'm out of her life and clearly that's how she wants to keep it. She always was pretty feminist in her views I suppose, and she's clearly decided she doesn't need or want a man to help her in any way; probably thinks I'd be a disaster with the child – and I agree that she's probably correct in that assumption.

xXx

After a sleepless night spent tossing and turning, I come down in the morning to overhear Pauline gossiping as she takes a blood sample. Clearly the jungle drums have spread the word about Louisa's return – and about her condition - and the verdict is in. I'm guilty of wickedly turning Louisa out, forcing her to pay for a room at the pub, while I sit up here in my ivory tower like some evil character in a pantomime.

Pauline is itching to discuss things with me, but I try my best not to get drawn into defending myself as I have done nothing wrong, whatever the villagers have decided.

"Miss Glasson's back then, staying at The Crab. In her own village, paying for shelter. A room at the Inn, in her condition."

"She's rented her house out." I stick to the facts by way of a response.

"I know. Did you not see her then?"

"What?" I really do not want to discuss this with Pauline, but she's not giving up, she's like a dog with a bone between its teeth.

"Miss Glasson. I heard the taxi dropped her up here."

"She did call in briefly, yes, to say hello. Then she went to the pub, as had always been her plan, it seems. Not that it's any of your business."

I'm cross now for allowing myself to be drawn into Pauline's attack on my behaviour, and I try to defend my actions without seeming to criticise Louisa, which would no doubt add fuel to the flames.

"Don't be unkind!" Pauline retorts.

"I am not!"

For God's sake, they all seem to think I'm some sort of ogre! Doesn't anyone understand that I have no control over Louisa's actions; it was _her_ decision to stay at the pub _not_ mine.

"Just cos a woman's strong don't mean it's alright to take advantage, that's all I'm saying."

Pauline has to have the last word as I decide to ignore her and get on with the day's work.

I pick up a phial of blood to try to prove to myself that my self therapy is working. I retch just at the sight of the blood – clearly it is not working very well, so I must redouble my efforts.

Of course Pauline just can't keep her big mouth shut, can she? Later that day it's clear the jungle drums have been busy again, updating her with the latest developments, which she feels should be notified to me by shouting across the surgery,

"Miss Glasson got the job at the school!"

This is said in front of Aunt Joan, who has popped into my surgery to put something on my notice board.

Joan is very surprised to hear that Louisa is back, but even more surprised when Pauline tells her that she is 'expecting'

"Expecting what?" she asks, puzzled.

Pauline sees me signalling to her to keep quiet, but ignores me anyway.

"A baby" she informs Joan.

"Martin?" Joan looks at me, stunned.

I sigh, knowing the cat is out of the bag now, and I signal Joan to come thorough. I haven't told her anything yet, I've been too busy trying to take the news in myself before having to explain it all to her – but now I had no choice.

"It's not my fault," I tell her defensively, once we are safely ensconced in my consulting room, with the door firmly closed against Pauline's eavesdropping.

"Oh," says Joan, seeming rather disappointed. I realise she thinks I mean that it is not _my _child that Louisa is carrying, so I hasten to correct myself.

"I mean it _is_ my fault, but it's not _just_ my fault. It's not my fault you don't know. I didn't know until yesterday."

"How pregnant is she?"

"Six months, I'd say."

Joan's expression clearly shows her shock at the fact that Louisa's pregnancy is so advanced.

"Mm, I know. She doesn't want me involved." I inform her.

"What did she say?"

"She was fine and I wasn't to worry."

"Bollocks! You're the father. How do you feel about that?"

Joan studies my face carefully. She understands me better than anyone, and will know that this is a real bolt out of the blue for me.

"What?" As usual, I feel very uncomfortable about airing my 'feelings' and really don't want to talk, but Joan won't let it rest.

"Being a father?"

"Me?"

"Yes, Martin, you! What are you going to do?" I don't dare say to Joan what I'm actually thinking. Nothing. I'm going to do nothing, because that's how Louisa wants it.

"In what way?" I ask evasively, knowing full well that Joan is not going to let me off lightly – and I'm right, as usual she tells me in no uncertain terms how she sees things.

"Well, for Louisa. She's got no family to speak of. Her body's teeming with hormones. In three months time she's going to have a baby – on her own. I think she might be in trouble, don't you?" she tells me pointedly.

"Yes." When she puts it like that, some of the anger I feel at Louisa dissipates. Anger for shutting me out and not telling me about this baby, for deciding to go ahead and have it on her own without so much as a word to me, despite assuring me that I am indeed the father.

Joan leaves me with much to think about after her questioning.

xXx

It continues all day. My patients seem to think they are obliged to give me their opinions on the matter of Miss Glasson's condition and her living arrangements, but I refuse to comment.

Finally I have a cancellation at around four in the afternoon, and I decide to try to catch Louisa at school rather than at the pub later on in the evening. We _have_ to talk, and there is more chance of speaking to her privately there I hope.

But my hopes are dashed – I spot her but she's speaking to the Headmaster, so I wait unseen for them to conclude their discussion. But as I wait, a loud '_Oh, hello Doctor Ellingham_' from a passing member of staff gives me away, and so I have to enter the room, and am collared by the dreadful man. I tell him to make an appointment and then follow Louisa, who has given me one of her looks and gone back to her classroom.

Finally we are alone in there. Where to start though?

"So, um, is everything alright?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, um, I mean have you got everything you need? You got the job, which is good."

Louisa agrees.

"_He's_ weird though," she tells me.

"Who is?"

"The Head Master."

"Ah," I finally understand now why she's so upset. She had been pretty ambitious and loved her job as Head Mistress of this school, that I do know. So it must be horrid for her seeing that man in what she considers to be _her_ job.

"What?" Louisa is being deliberately obtuse, I feel.

"Well, I mean it must be galling. Being back but not being Head Mistress."

"No, it's not galling. _He's_ not normal," Louisa insists, indicating the Head Master.

Now I'm confused again. Everyone is assuming that I'm a cold hearted bastard, thanks to her attitude. Seeing her standing there, heavily pregnant, but not wanting me to help her in any way, not even telling me she was pregnant for all these months, I simply can't fathom her out - most normal women would turn to the father straight away wouldn't they? So why doesn't she behave like other women?

"Tell you what isn't normal" I find myself saying.

"What?"

"You having this baby without telling me. Very high handed of you Louisa." I tell her.

"Oh is it?"

I see anger flashing in her eyes now.

"Do you imagine I didn't want to discuss it? In London, on my own, in a bedsit, 37 years old, single, pregnant? Do you think I didn't want to talk to the father, work things out? But what would you have said Martin, hm? '_Have you considered an abortion? I'll back you up whatever you decide' _She mocks me with her words.

"I _would_ have backed you up, absolutely. But keeping it a secret is just feminist point scoring, like you staying at the pub," I retort.

What does she think I would have done, frog marched her to an abortion clinic against her will? Certainly I would have discussed _all _the options with her so that she could make an informed decision, but I would have respected her choice to continue with the pregnancy. I am a doctor after all; I save lives, I don't willingly dispose of them.

"I didn't choose to stay at the pub. My house is rented out to Mr. Creepy," she tells me, with much feeling.

This takes the biscuit as far as I'm concerned – I am _not_ going to be made to feel guilty and take the blame for this, not from her.

"Nobody made you do it, and you get money for it." I point out.

"So?"

"So, that pays for the room at the pub!"

I realise this sounds petty, and that bickering will get us nowhere, so I take a deep breath to collect my thoughts and decide it makes more sense to try to at least sort out some of the practical arrangements.

"We should arrange to get your notes sent down," I suggest as a starting point. Then at least I will be in possession of the facts, and I can ensure that her pregnancy is monitored effectively.

"M…my doctor's notes?"

"Yes, it's pretty straight forward."

"They've been sent down. I'm with the hospital in Truro."

What the hell…why would she have them sent there? I'm _really _confused now.

"What?"

"You didn't imagine you'd be my doctor did you? That would be really odd Martin," she tells me, in what can only be described as a condescending manner.

So she doesn't even want me to be her doctor. She'd rather travel miles away to some unknown doctor at the hospital in Truro than consult me.

I thought that she respected me as a professional, that she would have trusted me on that score at least. She's making it crystal clear that she really wants absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with me on _any_ level.

She has decided that I'd be a truly appalling father. Well if that's how she wants things to be, there's nothing I can do to change her mind, so I will just have to let her get on with it and wash my hands of her, I tell myself.

"Your choice," I say coldly. I am well practiced at putting on a face to shut out my emotions, and I do not use any more words than are necessary now. I proffer my hand as acceptance of her decision to end any connection between us both privately and professionally, and then quickly walk away whilst I am still able.

I don't look back because she might then see the tears that are filling my eyes. I have been rejected many times in my life before, but this is by far, far the most painful.


End file.
